


I Know I'm Supposed to Love You

by thehoundisdead



Category: IT (Movies - Muschietti), IT - Stephen King
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - No Pennywise (IT), F/M, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Fluff, M/M, angst if you squint, but even dumber, the angst is mostly in bill's chapter because bill is emo af, the mike and bev stuff is super tiny
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-03
Updated: 2019-11-03
Packaged: 2021-01-22 11:13:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 17,723
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21301115
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thehoundisdead/pseuds/thehoundisdead
Summary: “I have a plan,” Richie says suddenly, sitting ramrod straight in the middle of the bed. He jostles Stan in the process, who simply turns his head to glare and shove more m&m’s in his mouth.“I don’t like this plan,” Stan says through a mouthful of chocolate, turning his head back to stare at the ceiling again from his laid down position on Richie’s bed. This is their weekday ritual; when there’s no group activity planned, Stan barges in Richie’s room in their shared apartment and makes himself comfortable.Or, Stan and Richie fake date and maybe things work out in the end.Title from ginasfs by fall out boy
Relationships: Bill Denbrough/Stanley Uris, Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier, Mike Hanlon/Beverly Marsh, Richie Tozier & Stanley Uris
Comments: 55
Kudos: 399





	1. Stan

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into Русский available: [I Know I'm Supposed to Love You](https://archiveofourown.org/works/27061531) by [Qeewi](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Qeewi/pseuds/Qeewi)

> sick bigfoot reference bro.

“I have a plan,” Richie says suddenly, sitting ramrod straight in the middle of the bed. He jostles Stan in the process, who simply turns his head to glare and shove more m&m’s in his mouth. 

“I don’t like this plan,” Stan says through a mouthful of chocolate, turning his head back to stare at the ceiling again from his laid down position on Richie’s bed. This is their weekday ritual; when there’s no group activity planned, Stan barges in Richie’s room in their shared apartment and makes himself comfortable. 

“You literally haven’t even _ heard _ it yet!” Richie shouts indignantly, standing up to dig around in his nightstand drawer. He comes back with a notebook, filled with half-written jokes and crude drawings and absolutely no notes even though the front cover proudly proclaims _ Physics_, and a pen. 

“Do I need to?” Stan says, raising one eyebrow even though he’s fairly certain Richie isn’t actually looking at him, “I know you. You’re plans are never good.”

“How fucking dare you, my plans are always good,” Richie proclaims, flopping back on the bed hard enough to make Stan bounce. 

“Are you being serious right now? Like, are you actually _ that _ deluded?” Stan snaps back, sitting up himself so he can sit criss cross opposite Richie, “How about when you dared Bill to go in that nasty well, or when you said you knew how to find proof of Bigfoot or-”

“Okay, okay, I get it!” Richie shrieks, throwing his hands up in surrender. He doesn’t lower his hands until Stan lowers his eyebrows and even then, his movements are slow. He flips open the notebook to a random empty page (_not _ the next available page, a fact which irks Stan more than he’d care to admit) and scratches out _ the plan _ across the top, “This one is going to be great though.” 

“Alright,” Stan concedes, laying the palms of his hands flat against his knees, “Lay it on me.” 

“Now that’s the kind of attitude I want to hear from you, Stannabel Lee!” 

“You have thirty seconds to convince me or I’m going back to my room, just for that comment alone,” Stan retorts, voice as dry as he can make it. The left corner of his mouth twitches up at Richie’s indignant screech. 

“It’s only six o’clock!” Richie shouts, as if that alone can force Stan to stay, “Besides, asshole, we live together, you literally can’t get away from me.” 

“Richie.” 

“Fine, fine!” Richie waves off and then turns back to the notebook, “So you and me will pretend to-”

“No.” 

“Stan!” Richie admonishes, slapping Stan with his pencil. They glare at each other for all of five seconds before Stan rolls his eyes and nods for Richie to continue, “_Thank you_, now as I was saying, you and me will pretend to date-”

“I was right,” Stan nods to himself, looking disappointed but not surprised, “You have _ the _ worst ideas.” 

“One, fuck you, two, you haven’t heard the whole thing yet!” Richie says, shaking the notebook at Stan as if there’s anything useful written in there yet, “So, we pretend to date, Eddie and Bill will get so jealous they’ll have to ravish us and voila, we don’t have to have Pining Parties anymore.” 

“Bill doesn’t really seem like the jealous type to me,” Stan points out, one hand reaching out to grab more m&m’s from the bag. 

“You’re right,” Richie says, lips pulling to the side like he’s deep in thought, “He’s way too emo for that, he’ll probably just write sad poetry about a bird that flew away, never to be seen again.” 

“He’s not emo,” Stan snaps, firing an m&m right to the middle of Richie’s forehead. It falls down his shirt; Stan wrinkles his nose as he watches Richie dig around for it before popping it into his mouth, “He’s just, y’know, thoughtful.” 

“_Thoughtful, _” Richie laughs, earning more m&m’s to the face, “Okay, okay, but you have a point.”

“Exactly,” Stan says, settling back down, “So what would I even get out of this?” 

“The satisfaction of knowing you’re my best friend?” Richie says, smiling with all his teeth. Stan doesn’t dignify that with a verbal response, just raises one eyebrow, “Fine, fine. What if I tell you I’m absolutely positive Denbrough likes you back?” 

“I’d say you’re a liar,” Stan snaps back, maybe a little too harsh but what can he say, he’s defensive. 

“Listen,” Richie says, voice serious for once, “If there’s any way to test how they feel without laying it all out there, this is it. What’s the harm? If they don’t react we’ll just, we’ll do what we always do. I’ll buy more candy.”

“Fine,” Stan says after a moment of silence. Richie throws his hands up, mouth opening to cheer but Stan stops him with one finger, “But! If this doesn’t work you owe me those little baby m&m’s for like a year.” 

~*-*~

Bill lays out in front of him, sunglasses on and a smile on his face. The towel under him can’t be doing much to curb the uncomfortable firmness of the rocky earth beneath him but he looks happy all the same. His hair gleams red in this light, little streaks of scarlett mixed into russet brown hair. 

Bill’s been spending more and more time at the quarry since this last semester started. He says it’s a good place to think; no one in the town comes out here and the sunshine calms him down. Stan suspects it’s because he hates his professor and comes here to daydream about punching him. Either way, Stan’s been coming here too, if only to spend time with Bill. 

He sits in the grass next to the rocky embankment, textbook in his lap that he pretends to read. Instead he watches Bill, has been watching him get progressively more and more tan, skin looking almost golden in the sunshine. He wants to reach out and touch, to feel that sun warmed skin beneath his fingertips, his palms, his lips. 

“What are you looking at?” Bill asks without moving his head, snapping Stan out of the moment. He shakes his head, offering Bill a little smile. 

“My textbook,” he says, lifting the book for Bill to see, although Bill’s face is still pointed towards the sky, “Auditing and Assurances. Very exciting stuff, you know.” 

“Stanley,” Bill laughs, finally turning his head to face Stan, lowering his sunglasses so Stan can catch a glimpse of cobalt eyes, more alive now than when Stan picked him up from class earlier that day, “You haven’t turned the page in, like, thirty minutes.” 

“That’s...” Stan starts, cheeks heating up embarrassingly quickly. It only seems to make Bill’s smile widen further, “I’ve got a lot to think about right now.” 

“Sure,” Bill says easily enough, turning his face back towards the sky. He’s quiet for long enough that Stan thinks he’s been let off the hook, that maybe just this once Bill will drop it. Then, he wiggles his body just a bit, just enough for Stan to notice the muscle contracting in the hazy bright light, “As long as you weren’t looking at me.” 

“I was _ not _-”

“Hey Stanley?” 

“Yeah?”

“I’m glad we started coming here,” Bill says, reaching his arms back so his fingers can find Stan’s legs, one hand latching onto his ankle while the other rests lightly on his shin. 

“We’ve always come to quarry,” Stan replies, trying not to hyperventilate, trying to stop his hands from grabbing Bill’s.

“No, I mean like this,” Bill says, looking up at Stan again, “Just the two of us.”

“Me too, Bill,” Stan says with a tiny smile on his face even though he knows Bill doesn’t mean it the way he wants him to. But it’s nice, sometimes, to pretend, “I’m glad we’re here too.”

~*-*~

“We need rules,” Stan says, laying back down on Richie’s bed, feet dangling off the side, hands folded over his stomach. 

“Rules?” Richie says, scooting backwards to lean his back against his headboard, knees coming up to act as a desk for the journal. 

“If we’re going to fake date we need to set some ground rules,” Stan repeats, watching the ceiling fan spin around and around. 

“_Promise you won’t fall in love with me_,” Richie says in a high pitched voice, fingers coming up to twirl in his hair. 

“We’re not in a Nicholas Sparks novel and I can _ assure _ you, you don’t have to worry about that,” Stan rolls his eyes, turning his head to look at Richie, “I mean, I don’t like a lot of touching.” 

“You let Bill touch you all the time!”

“That’s, shut up Richie, that’s different,” Stan snaps, cheeks burning. But it’s true, he knows it is. Bill likes casual touch; an arm around his shoulders, a hand on the small of his back, fingers coming up to brush away stray curls on his forehead, and Stan likes to let him. It’s just everyone else that’s the problem. He can _ handle _ touching everyone else, he just doesn’t _ like _it, “You can hold my hand.”

“What are we, eight? Do you think anyone is going to believe _ I’m _ dating someone and all we do is _ hold hands_?” Richie cries, dropping his knees so he can look at Stan incredulously. 

“You can kiss my cheek,” Stan offers with a shrug.

“Are you serious, Staniel?” Richie asks, “Are you going to be this much of a prude when you and Bill _ actually _get together?” 

_ If _ they ever got together, Stan wants to correct, _ if_. _ If _ that ever happened, Stan thinks he’d let Bill touch him wherever, whenever he wants (within reason). He thinks about running his nose along Bill’s jaw, of letting Bill’s hands creep up to rub at the skin just underneath his shirt. He thinks about sitting close and wrapping his arms around Bill and tangling their legs together. He imagines he’d let Bill do any of those things. 

“Shut up, Richie,” Stan snaps instead.

“Fine, I guess they’ll believe it because it is _ you _ ,” Richie snaps back, glaring at Stanley until his eyes light up and Stan knows he’s in trouble again, “But I’m _ absolutely _ going to touch your butt.” 

“No!” 

“Stanley,” Richie rolls his eyes, one hand reaching out to pat Stan’s knee only to get slapped away, “I’ve been touching your butt since we were fourteen, get over it already.” 

“Yeah and that’s bad enough but if you ever think I’m going to give you _ permission _ to do it, you’re out of your mind,” Stan says, glaring at Richie who just smiles easily back, “You’d never let me forget it.” 

“Fair enough,” Richie grins, scribbling down on his notebook _ touching - hand holding, cheek kissing, butt touching _, “Hopefully soon I’ll only be touching Eddie’s butt.” 

“I’m sure he’ll _ love _that,” Stan mutters sarcastically and then immediately regrets it when he sees the way Richie’s shoulders fall, just a little.

“I hope so,” Richie says in a voice far quieter and much more subdued than he was just a few seconds ago, head dropping between his shoulders. He shouldn’t ever be like that, even Stan will admit that; Richie is supposed to be loud and obnoxious and decidedly _ not _ funny and most of all a good friend. Stan’s best friend, “Maybe this is dumb after all.” 

“Hey,” Stan reaches out, placing a hand on Richie’s knee, fingers digging into his skin just enough to let him know he’s there, “Eddie would be _ lucky _ to have his butt groped by you.” 

“You think?” Richie asks, eyes flicking up to look at Stan from his hunched position. The grin returns to his face when Stan nods seriously, picking himself back up with a resilience Stan is envious of, “You’re right, I’m going to blow him away. He’s not going to know what hit him.” 

“That’s the spirit,” Stan says, clapping his hand down on Richie’s knee one last time before letting go completely, “Besides, half the time it’s not even _ you _ harassing him. He seeks you out like some kind of sadist.” 

“Okay, I get it Stanley, you love me and think I’m perfect,” Richie says with a roll of his eyes, but they’re soft and his small smile is grateful, “Now stop trying to reassure me, it’s unsettling.” 

“It’s not like it’s pleasant for me either,” Stan says, turning his attention back to the notebook in Richie’s lap, “Now, what are your rules?” 

“You have to laugh at my jokes.”

“Richie, even if we dated for real, I wouldn’t laugh at your jokes,” Stan deadpans. 

“You have to laugh at _ some _ of them,” Richie asserts, coke bottle glasses sliding down his nose as he stares Stanley down, “No one is going to believe you _ like _ me if you don’t laugh at _ some _ of them.” 

“If I laugh, they’ll just think I’ve been body snatched. It’ll be like an episode of the X-Files.” 

“Stan.” 

“Fine!” Stan gives up, sighing loudly through his nose, “I promise to _ try _ to laugh at some of your better jokes.” 

“That’s all I’m asking,” Richie says in a sing song voice, scratching _ stan must laugh at my hilarious comedy _ onto the page.

“Hilarious comedy is redundant,” Stan says, and then immediately braces himself for the slap of the pillow Richie is wielding. 

“Not everything has to be classic literature, Stanley,” Richie laughs, underlining the phrase _ hilarious comedy _ three times over just to dig his heels in harder, “These are just notes and I am not Billiam.” 

“Thank God for that,” Stan mutters and then looks up more fully at Richie, “How did we get together?” 

“I came home from work, saw you drooling over a bird documentary and thought to myself ‘_wow this fucking nerd would be perfect for me’ _ and bam! Here we are,” Richie cries, slamming his hands together to emphasize the _ bam _ in his sentence. 

“Richie, that’s fucking stupid,” Stan raises both eyebrows at him, lips tilted down in a frown, “It’s like after all these years, you still know nothing about me other than that I kind of like birds.” 

“Fuck you, they don’t need to know how we got together then, okay? None of their business anyways, those nosy little gremlins,” Richie decides, writing down _ don’t tell them how we got together, make up a new story every time? _He stops then, like he remembers something, and points a finger directly in Stan’s face, “And don’t think I’m letting that comment slide, Stanley, I know you better than you know yourself.” 

“And how long are we going to let this play out?” Stan asks, choosing to ignore Richie’s statement because, just this once, he might be right. Not that Stan would ever tell him that. 

“A week? Two?” Richie says, voice lilting up at the end of each word, “I don’t want to be saddled to you for too long.” 

“You’ll take what you can get and be _ grateful_.”

“Oh, daddy, I like when you get all demanding,” Richie lears, waggling his eyebrows at Stan in what he assumes is supposed to be a sexy look. It’s not very effective. 

“Richie, if you ever, _ ever _, say something like that to me again I can and will projectile vomit all over you,” Stan says in the sternest possible voice he can muster, channeling every past disappointed tone his father has directed at him. 

“Promises, promises,” Richie waves off, writing down _ two weeks max _ into the notebook before casually launching it across the room, “Now, onto the most important business of the night. Ever After or Pretty Woman?” 

~*-*~

The next day at the quarry, Stan resolutely doesn’t bring The Plan up. Not in the car when Bill climbs into his passenger seat, hand reaching out to grab Stan’s shoulder, lips turning up in one corner in this tiny crooked smile Stan only ever sees directed him. Not when Bill begs Stanley to swim with him, not when his soft hands touch Stan’s bare shoulders. Not when Bill wipes away wet hair from Stan’s forehead with one hand only to bring the other up to splash water at him. 

Today, instead of pretending to study, Stan lays out on his own towel next to Bill. He lathers himself up in an outrageous amount of sunscreen and pretends his pinky finger isn’t only an inch or two away from Bill’s. He’s got one of Bill’s headphones in his ear, which is gross and normally he’d _ never _ share something that goes inside of his ear but this is Bill, so he puts up with it for the sake of shared intimacy. 

They’re listening to an audiobook, one that Stan’s not really sure he cares for in terms of plot but the narrator's voice is soothing and it’s not like this is just something Bill _ likes _, it’s something Bill wants to share specifically with him. He’s not sure what about him implies he would understand the plight of Dr. Cory and his continual efforts to save Donovan’s brain, or sustain it for that matter once it starts to control him. But he listens because this is obviously important to Bill, if the way he’s been twitching more and more as the story goes on is anything to go by. So he listens, because he wants to be close to Bill in any way he can. 

The story comes to a head when Donovan tries to force Dr. Cory to kill a little girl, via the powers of a sort of hypnotic telepathy, and that’s when Bill truly begins to squirm. He turns to look at Stan, watches him as Stan listens to the story, getting more and more lost in the lull of the narrator’s voice. He’s about to turn to Bill, to smile and ask what he’s waiting for when he hears it. 

Dr. Cory develops a way to combat the pull of the brain, to stay in control, to keep from hurting anyone else. He mutters to himself, over and over again, _ amidst the mists and coldest frosts he thrusts his fist against the post and still insists he sees the ghost, amidst the mists- _

Bill is still watching him when Stan turns his head, eyelids fluttering open to meet icy blues that are so, so close. Bill grabs at his phone without looking away, pausing the book and pulling the headphone out of his ear. 

“Do you remember?” he says, in a voice so quiet it’s almost a whisper and Stanley wants to shout back _ Yes! As if I don’t remember everything about you! _

“Of course,” Stan says instead in a voice equally as quiet, trying to ignore how close they are. Their noses almost touch and if he leaned in closer, just a little closer, his words could brush against Bill along with his lips, “It’s what you used to say.” 

“It’s what I used to say,” Bill agrees with a little nod of his head. His eyes search over Stan’s face and for a second, one crazy second, Stan thinks he might lean forward and close the gap between them. But then he smiles, cheek dimpling and says, “And now you know where it’s from.” 

But it feels like more than that. It feels like more than just sharing a book; it’s Bill giving another little piece of himself to Stanley to keep safe. It leaves him feeling breathless, the weight of it. But Stanley has always read too far into situations, he’s always seeing something that’s not there. So he ignores that feeling and tells himself Bill is just being a friend, he’s _ always _ just being a friend. 

“All this time,” Stan says, cracking a smile to avoid the flutter of his heart, “I thought you were a writing prodigy. Turns out you’ve been a poser all along.” 

That punches a laugh out of Bill, grin wide and eyes closed as he flails one arm at Stanley, letting his hand linger on Stan’s warm stomach for maybe a second too long before dragging it back to himself and reaching for the headphones, “Come on, let’s try to finish this before you get a sunburn.”

“Excuse me, _ I’m _not the one who decided to forgo sunscreen,” Stan says in a haughty voice, though he smiles as he settles back down and takes the headphone from Bill’s hand. It would be easy, on days like this, to pretend there’s something between them besides empty space. He wants to pretend for however long he can. 

~*-*~

When he walks into his apartment that evening he’s almost immediately ambushed by Richie, who has far too much energy for someone who just got home from work. His white button up shirt has a fresh red sauce stain on it that Stan clocks and is already mentally cleaning when Richie grabs his shoulders and leans in close to his face. 

“Were you with Bill? Did you tell him? Did he believe you?” he asks, walking backwards but not letting go as Stanley pushes him forward enough into the apartment so he can shut the door behind him. 

“Well, hello Richie, how was your day?” Stan says in lieu of an answer, smiling inside at the guffaw Richie lets out. 

“Stanley, this is serious!” Richie throws his hands in the air, nearly knocking off his glasses in the process, “Do you tell Denbrough?” 

“No,” Stan says, avoiding Richie’s eyes in defeat. He probably should have said something but it would have ruined their day, probably. _ Their _ day. It wasn’t worth it, in the moment, “It didn’t feel like the right time.” 

Richie looks at him knowingly for too long and Stan curses himself for somehow ending up best friends with the most insightful goofball of all time. Richie eventually nods his head though and says, “That’s alright. It’s probably best we tell them all at once, together. No reason to give you and Bill a head start.” 

“Yeah,” Stan nods along, as if that was why he kept this to himself, “No reason.” 

“Tomorrow though,” Richie says, looking at Stan over the top of his glasses, eyebrows raised enough to form deep wrinkles on his forehead, “Like we planned.” 

“Alright, alright,” Stan says, shaking Richie off so he can take a shower, “I’m not about to back out of the plan. We’ll tell them tomorrow at movie night. That way everyone can hear and you can get Eddie riled enough that he’ll jump you on the spot.”

“You really think he’ll do that?” Richie asks, head cocked to the side with an all too goofy smile on his face, eyes drifting off probably to imagine the scene. 

“No, but there’s always hope,” Stan says, shouldering past Richie so he can head to the bathroom, “And leave your shirt in the kitchen so I can clean that stain, you absolute _ zhlob _.” 

Stan shuts the door to the bathroom without waiting for a response from Richie, which was probably just a pterodactyl like screech anyways. Under the warm water’s spray, he can finally think about the day, about Bill, about this stupid plan. 

Mostly, he doesn’t think it will work. Scratch that, he doesn’t think it will work for _ him. _ Eddie definitely has _ something _ for Richie and the rage of a feral cat; he’s bound to snap and pounce Richie before either of them even know it. 

He doesn’t think it’ll work for _ him, _though. Bill doesn’t see him like that and even if, by some small miracle, he did, Stan was serious when he said Bill didn’t seem the jealous type. If anything, Stan is scared Bill will pull away, try to remove himself as far from the situation as he can. And that’s terrifying. 

But, deep inside, there’s also a small bundle of hope that blooms in his chest. Because maybe seeing Stan with someone else will awaken something in Bill, maybe it’ll be enough of a push him in the right direction. Maybe Stan can make it out of this not just unscathed, but better off. 

Maybe things will be okay. 

  



	2. Eddie

Movie nights are always at Bill’s apartment because Bill has the nicest TV and the most comfortable couch. They always sit in the same spots, unofficial assigned seats, with Richie corralled between the arm of the couch and Eddie. Bev usually sits on his other side, unless they’re watching a horror movie in which case she sits on the floor next to Mike huddled under a blanket. Bill sits on the little two person loveseat that Stan _ always _squeezes onto no matter what movie they’re watching. Stan doesn’t see it, but Eddie never misses the pleased look on Bill’s face when he sits down. Ben is a floater; he sits next to whoever he feels like depending on the night, which Eddie fundamentally doesn’t understand. He likes the routine of it all, he likes sitting next to...the people he sits next to. 

Today, when Bill opens the door for him he’s wearing a deep frown that Eddie can’t even guess at. It’s movie night, he’s going to cuddle Stan, what could _ possibly _make him frown like that? He’ll say his hellos, throw a snide comment at Richie and then he’ll pull Bill aside to ask what’s wrong. Except. 

Except, when he walks into Bill’s sitting room Stan is sitting in his spot. Next to Richie. In _ his _ spot. And they’re, they’re _ holding hands. _

“What the fuck?” Eddie says, louder than he means to but seriously _ what the fuck_. They both turn to look up at him; Stan looks shy but Richie, _ Richie_, has the audacity to look up at him and _ smile_. As if he isn’t breaking one of the most important informal party rules with one of his, his _ games. _

“Hey Eddie,” Richie says, smile as easy as ever. _ Eddie? _ Eddie wants to scream. Since when has he been _ Eddie_. And Richie is, he’s _ playing _ with Stan’s fingers, _ why is he playing with Stan’s fingers? _

“Why are you playing with Stan’s fingers?” he demands because apparently he has no self control or any semblance of sense. He regrets it immediately, because Richie’s smile turns wide, too wide, like he could eat Eddie’s entire world. 

“Well,” Richie starts, taking his eyes off Eddie, _ why is looking away from Eddie, _ to hold Stan’s gaze, “Stan is my _ lover_.” 

“Shut up, Richie,” Stan snaps, sending a sharp elbow right into Richie’s ribs but he laughs, _ he laughs, _ and that’s just wrong; Stan isn’t supposed to laugh at Richie’s jokes, this is all _ wrong. _

“_What _?” Eddie all but shrieks. 

“We’re dating,” Stan says simply, finally looking away from Richie to meet Eddie’s eyes, “But we’re not _ lovers_, God, you’re so gross Richie.”

“Aww, babe, don’t be like that,” Richie pouts, leaning in close to press a kiss to the side of Stan’s face, and Stan, Stan _ let’s him, _“You know you love it.” 

“You’re on thin ice, Tozier,” Stan mumbles, looking down but he _ blushes _ and something about that is just so _ wrong _ it has Eddie shaking. 

“But you don’t even think Richie is funny!” Eddie shouts, spreading his hands out wide next to him. Stan and Richie look at each other; they don’t talk but Eddie can tell those looks _ mean _ something and it makes his fingers twitch angrily. 

“I don’t have to laugh,” Stan says slowly, like he’s trying to pick the words out of his teeth, “to think he’s funny.”

“What, that’s, yes you do!” Eddie shouts back, throwing a hand in Richie’s direction, “Look at him! He needs constant validation!” 

“Stan validates me in other ways, if you know what I mean,” Richie says, eyebrows wiggling and tongue poking out to lick his lips. Eddie could barf, his stomach aches and his hands are shaking and if Richie’s not careful Eddie _ will _ throw up on him. Eddie looks around the room for help, maybe, or maybe just to see if _ anyone _ else can see how absolutely batshit insane this all is. Bev and Mike just look confused from where they sit on the ground at the far end of the room, but that in itself only proves Eddie’s point because even _ they _ have been chased out of their spots by the absolute _ depravity _ that’s happening on that couch and Bill. Poor Bill has a pained grimace on his face that he tries to hide with his hands.. _ Bill, _ Eddie tries to plead with just his eyes, _ Tell Stan about your stupid gay crush and put a stop to this nonsense. _

But Bill isn’t looking at him. He’s looking at Stan, probably taking in the blush in his cheeks, the way he leans into Richie’s side, probably because he’s warm, Richie is so _ warm _ and Eddie will absolutely not sit anywhere other than his _ spot_, he doesn’t _ care _ if they’re supposedly dating, Stan can stand up and _ move. _

“That’s where I sit,” Eddie says to Stan then, refusing to acknowledge the incredulous look Bev shoots him. 

“Usually,” Stan nods in agreement, eyebrows furrowing as he looks Eddie up and down, “But I figure things have changed and now I want to sit next to Richie.”

“Well you _ figured _ wrong,” Eddie snaps, “You can’t just change things.”

“Eddie,” Mike says softly from where he sits next to Bev, reaching one hand out towards him, “Why don’t you come sit over here with me and Bev? We’ll share our blanket with you.” 

“Yeah,” Bev says, scooting away from Mike and patting the spot she’s made in between them, “Come sit with us.”

“_No!” _ Eddie shouts because it’s not _ right_, Stan and Richie can’t just waltz in here and change everything, “Bill?” 

Bill looks up at him with sad eyes and furrowed eyebrows and asks, “W-what?”

“This is your house!” Eddie says through the burn in his throat. 

“I’m not going to s-stop them from sitting n-next to each other, Eddie,” Bill speaks slowly and Eddie knows it’s because of his stutter, which he hasn’t heard from Bill in months at the very least, and the sound of it makes something hot and sharp run through Eddie. _ Do you see what you did to Bill? _He wants to shout at them while dragging Stan out of his stupid spot on this stupid couch next to stupid Richie. 

“That’s, but, they _ can’t _-” 

“Why is it such a big deal?” Richie asks, finally speaking up after an eerie amount of silence from him, “I just want to sit next to my boyfriend, Eddie.”

“Do _ not _ fucking call me that, asshole,” Eddie says with as much venom as he can muster. Richie flinches on instinct and something about that is weirdly satisfying. He wants to hold Richie down and look him in the eye and say _ stop. whatever it is that you’re doing just stop. _

“Call you what? Your name?” 

“You know what? I’m not fucking doing this,” Eddie says, turning hard on his heel, “See you fuckers some other time!” 

A chorus of _ ‘Eddie!’ _ s follow him out the door but he’s firm in his resolve; he’s not going to go back and deal with this nonsense. Richie can start all the games he wants to but Eddie doesn’t have to _ play _ and he abso-fucking-lutely won’t. He’ll talk to Richie again when he goes back to being normal, whatever that is. 

He makes it all the way to his car before a hand stops him and for a brief moment he thinks it must be Richie, here to apologize and promise to let things go back to the way they’re supposed to be. But when he turns around, all he sees are Bill’s sad eyes and bitten red lips and he doesn’t understand why his stomach drops, he just knows it should be Richie out here. _ Why didn’t Richie follow him out? _

“Eddie,” Bill says, face drawn up with worried wrinkles, “I understand.” 

“There’s nothing to understand, Bill,” Eddie says, trying to calm himself down because he’s not mad at _ Bill _ of all people, “I’m just not going to put up with Richie when he’s acting like this.” 

“Sometimes,” Bill starts, swallowing hard, “Sometimes, the people we love find someone else. And that’s hard, Eddie, God it’s hard but, but they’re happy, you know?” 

“Bill, I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Eddie, you have to learn how to let go, even if you don’t want to,” Bill says. His eyes are red and watering far too much and Eddie simultaneously wants to hug him and push him away, “Sometimes love doesn’t work out for us.” 

“That’s not, what are you, I’m not even-” Eddie starts and stops and starts and stops, “That may be an issue for you, Bill, but I don’t love Richie. I just think he’s fucking annoying.” 

“Okay,” Bill nods, but he’s looking at Eddie like he knows something Eddie doesn’t, sad eyes never leaving his face, “Okay. Be careful on your drive home.”

~*-*~

_ Two weeks earlier _

“Are you being fucking serious right now, like are you being serious?” Eddie snaps at Richie, talking over the movie to get his point across. 

“I’m just saying, Eds, I was absolutely _ fine _ and then I got the flu shot and bam! Suddenly I’m sick,” Richie says, raising his eyebrows like he’s just made an argument ending point, “Coincidence? I think not.”

“That’s literally not how vaccines work, okay Richie, that’s _ literally _ not how they work,” Eddie turns his whole body towards Richie, ready to absolutely decimate him, “What do you think they do? Just infect you with the live virus? Just get you sick and say _ oh ho ho hope you get better! _and send you on your way? Are you fucking kidding me?” 

“I’m not accusing them of anything,” Richie replies, throwing his hands up in a weak surrender, “I’m just recounting what happened to me.” 

“You’re so full of shit, do you know that?” Eddie starts, lifting a hand to point at Richie’s face, ready to tear into him when he notices his eyes. Richie’s eyes have always looked big, framed under his giant glasses, but today they look extra shiny. They seem to sparkle in the shitty lighting of Bill’s apartment, alive with the amusement of phenomenally pissing off Eddie, and for the first time Eddie notices they have little hazel specks in them. They look almost pretty. 

“Eds? You okay in there?” Richie asks after a too long moment of silence, snapping Eddie back into reality. 

“Just shut up, Trashmouth, okay?” he says, turning back to face the screen and willing his cheeks to stop burning. He doesn’t even know _ why _ he’s blushing, nothing happened, “Just shut up.” 

“Whatever you say, Eds,” Richie says in a voice that’s too soft, that Eddie doesn’t understand and that, disturbingly, makes Eddie relax ever so slightly. Richie throws his arm up along the back of the couch and Eddie pretends not to lean back into it. Richie is warm, okay? He always has been and it’s _ movie night_. Eddie wants to be warm. 

He falls asleep at some point during the movie and doesn’t wake up until the end credits. There’s a warm chest underneath him and fingers running through his hair and his first instinct is to curl further into that warmth and fight his way back to sleep before he remembers where he is. _ Who _ he’s with. 

When he opens his eyes Richie is cooing at him softly, fingernails lightly scratching against his scalp. Eddie hates how good it feels because he’s positive Richie is just making fun of him and that idea alone has him lurching off Richie’s chest with a speed almost violent and glaring down at Richie. 

“I’m not a baby, you know,” he snaps, hand coming up to rub at sleepy eyes. 

“I know?” Richie replies, sounding confused as if he really can’t figure out where this is going. As if he thinks Eddie doesn’t know what was happening. 

“You could have just pushed me off,” he says, damn near baring his teeth, “You don’t have to make fun of me.”

“I wasn’t? Eddie, you were just sleeping,” Richie explains, looking far too caught out for someone who’s supposedly innocent, “You looked really comfortable; I didn’t want to wake you.” 

“Yeah, well,” Eddie begins, wanting desperately to be angry, because if he’s not angry he doesn’t understand the whirling in his stomach but Richie’s answer is just so..._ reasonable_, “Next time, just wake me up.” 

“Excuse me, have you _ seen _ yourself in the morning?” Richie asks incredulously, laughing a little at the confused expression Eddie must be wearing, “You’re a literal demon when you wake up, Eds, I’m not trying to get murdered in Bill’s apartment.” 

“Well maybe I’ll just sit somewhere else, next week,” Eddie says but they both know it’s an empty threat; Eddie sits in the same spot every week, pressed up firmly against Richie. 

“No!” Richie shouts, eyes wide as his arms reach out to grab Eddie and pull him in close, “You’re not allowed to sit anywhere else, Eds, those are the rules.”

“Yeah, okay,” Eddie nods along, letting himself be manhandled next to Richie, “But only because those _ are _ the rules.” 

~*-*~

That was two weeks ago. Two weeks ago, Richie would have begged to make Eddie stay in his spot next to him on the couch. Now he just wants to sit next to Stan. His _ boyfriend _ Stan. The thought of it makes something in Eddie’s belly tighten painfully, though he’s not really sure why. Probably because they’re trying to change things. What they had before was good, why do things need to change? Why do things ever need to change? 

~*-*~

There’s a car following Eddie. It’s blue and old and makes a creaking sound when it brakes. It is a car Eddie knows _ very _ intimately and one he will not get into right now. He’d rather walk in the spring heat, heavy backpack on his shoulders and textbooks in his arms. Eddie is nothing if not stubborn. 

“Eds, come on, get in the car!” Richie shouts through the open window. There are cars lined up behind him, honking angrily at his slow place but he doesn’t move or speed up or even really seem to hear them. Richie has never been one to break under someone else’s pressure. He used to, for Eddie, used to fight and complain and whine and yet still mold himself into the perfect shape for Eddie to carry with him. They used to work. 

“Go hang out with your _ boyfriend_!” Eddie snaps back without deigning to actually look at him. He keeps walking and ignores the sharp _ fuck it _ he hears from Richie’s direction. That is, until he hears Richie’s car door slam shut and whips around to see what the fuck Richie is doing now. 

“Richie, what the fuck?” he asks (yells) because Richie’s just. Put his car in park in the middle of the goddamn road and is now striding quickly at him, “You can’t just park your car there!” 

“Oh?” Richie asks, cocking one eyebrow and turning to look at his car with a baffled expression, “It looks pretty parked to me.” 

“You know what I mean, asshole,” Eddie snaps, turning back around to face away from Richie. He doesn’t know why but he can’t bear to look at Richie right now, the sight of him makes something under his skin burn and ache. 

“Well, if you’d just get in the car we wouldn’t have to worry about this, now would we?” Richie asks, continuing to walk toward Eddie at an alarming rate. Damn him and his long spider legs in those _ ugly _ fake slacks he bought for his stupid low paying job. He’s too good for that place so it’s probably a good thing he spent as little money as possible on the uniform. He shouldn't be a waiter, that’s for sure. 

Richie was meant for better things, even now, when he’s annoying the hell out of Eddie. 

“I’m not getting in the car with you, Richie,” Eddie says, pretending he doesn’t see the angry drivers all trying to get around Richie’s parked car, “Go bother someone else.”

“But it’s tradition!” Richie cries, throwing his arms in the air as he follows behind Eddie, “Come on, Eds, it’s Friday! You’re supposed to come home with me so we can go to my show together!” 

_ Don’t you have someone better to hang out with? _Eddie wants to ask but bites his tongue before the words can climb their way out of his mouth. Instead he says, “I’m really busy today, Richie, I need to study.”

“But,” Richie starts in a tone so soft, so, so _ scared _Eddie has to turn around. His eyes are big (but they’re always big under those glasses) and sad and pleading, “But you’re coming to my show tonight, right?” 

“I,” Eddie starts and can’t stop himself from _ really _ looking into Richie’s eyes. It should be so _ easy _ to say no, to tell him to fuck off and yet somehow Eddie finds himself muttering, “Yes. Of course I’ll come to your stupid show, Richie.” 

“Great!” Richie replies, hands reaching out to touch Eddie’s shoulders, for just a second, altogether too long and not long enough, not enough to warm Eddie, not like Richie’s touch is supposed to, “But you don’t want a ride home?” 

“No!” Eddie shouts because he can’t imagine being stuck with Richie inside his tiny car right now, with Richie’s loud voices and big smiles because they don’t feel right anymore, they don’t feel like _ his_, “No, I’m very comfortable walking.” 

“Are you sure?” Richie asks, standing with a hand on his hip like he could wait there all day, glancing down at the textbooks in Eddie's arms, “It’s really not a problem.” 

_ I know it’s not a problem, _ he wants to snap, but that’s the issue isn’t it? He doesn’t know where he stands with Richie, not anymore. Instead he says, “I want to walk. Get some sunlight. Do you even _ know _ what happens to you if you don’t get enough vitamin D?” 

Richie rolls his eyes and smiles that smile that Eddie has categorized as his _ special _ smile, one he doesn’t get to see all that often, “Okay Eds. Remember, it starts at seven!” 

“Okay, okay,” Eddie waves away, trying at a smile that should be real but doesn’t feel it, “I’m only there _ every _ Friday, Richard.”

With that, Richie is running back down the sidewalk, towards his shoddily parked car and away from Eddie. Eddie can’t help but watch him, his limbs seem to move without his knowledge, they flail and he stumbles but always, _ always _, catches himself. Somehow, he always has the energy to catch Eddie too. 

~*-*~

The bar the Richie performs at always has sticky floors. Every step he takes makes a sharp squelching sound that has his ears burning. He wants to find the bartender and demand to know if they’ve _ ever _ cleaned this place properly. But this is Richie’s favorite place to perform and he’s not about to get them kicked out because he kind of, maybe, is a little OCD about cleanliness. At least not tonight. 

He orders a drink from the bar and vigilantly watches them make it. He’s read enough news stories about shady people slipping things into drinks at bars and Eddie is _ not _ about to become a statistic, oh no. All the while, he looks around the room for familiar faces. Richie, he knows, is probably already in the tiny closet they proudly proclaim as a Green Room and the others don’t usually come out anymore. 

Scratch that, they _ do _ come out whenever Richie has new material he’s proud of. Then all six of them will grab a table in the back (“_You can’t sit in the front!” Richie had yelled at them after the first time, “All of you, staring up at me with your beady little eyes. Sit in the back!” Eddie carefully doesn’t address the fact that Richie always, _ always_, lets him sit in the front _ ) and laugh at whatever ridiculousness Richie has come up with. But they don’t come for the daily grind like Eddie does; they don’t get to see the rush of adrenaline that colors his cheeks when he gets off stage after _ finally _working out a new bit and they don’t have to comfort him after he completely bombs. 

That’s Eddie’s job, one that he’s never quite minded doing the way he should given that his entire weekend, _ every _ weekend, is all booked up with Richie, and yet tonight he finds himself craning his neck for a familiar face in the not so large crowd of people. 

He doesn’t understand the feeling, even as he takes his seat at one of the front tables, fingers tracing his glass again and again waiting for Richie to stumble out on the makeshift stage and light up the whole room. And _ that’s _ it really. _ Eddie _ shouldn’t be the one here every weekend to watch over Richie. Why isn’t _ Stan _ here? 

_ If I were Richie’s boyfriend, I’d be here every weekend, _ Eddie thinks to himself and then promptly shakes his head. He doesn’t know why he thought that because it’s not like he would ever want to _ be _ Richie’s boyfriend. They’re just close friends, Eddie just wants what’s best for him. He absolutely does not think about the fact that he’s here every weekend anyway. 

There might still be time, he supposes. Richie isn’t due to go on for another ten minutes and although Eddie has never known Stan to be late to anything it doesn’t mean it couldn’t happen. There’s no need to get preemptively angry when Stan could still waltz in here. 

Except no, fuck that, Stan should have been here already. He should have come with Richie and laughed at his pre-show jitters and been in his seat, ready to watch, at least fifteen minutes ago. That’s what Eddie does. 

“Are you guys ready to hear some entertainment?” a bumbling man says, leaning down too far into the microphone like’s he’s never done this before even though Eddie knows for a _ fact _ he announces Richie every weekend, “Well, give it up for Richie Tozier.” 

Richie comes stumbling out onto the stage, limbs too long as always, high fiving the man as they cross each other. When he reaches the microphone, he immediately pulls it off the stand instead of leaning into it and cries, “Whaddup!” 

There’s a few claps from the crowd, some regulars who cheer for him, and Eddie tries but he can’t bring himself to be in the mood for this, “My name is Richie, in case you didn’t catch that. Richie Trashmouth Tozier. 

“You might think that’s an insult, but really it’s a term of endearment gifted to me by my prude of a best friend,” Richie says, stopping to smile at the crowd and then shakes his head, “I mean, honestly, you eat your friend’s trash one time and suddenly you’re a trashmouth. Who knew.” 

Eddie takes a swig of his drink and lets Richie’s opener fade into the background. He only has a fifteen minute set tonight and Eddie’s heard this one before, he doesn’t need to listen _ again. _ He just can’t stop thinking about tonight and Richie and seriously? Why isn’t Stan here? What kind of person won’t come out to support their boyfriend? _ Eddie _would never do that and honestly, Richie deserves better. 

He deserves someone who is actually willing to sacrifice their night to support him and hey, he’s just saying, if Stan’s not willing to do that maybe he’s not right for Richie. Richie needs a particular type of person to be there for him and maybe Stan just isn’t it. Maybe Eddie should tell him something or-

“Eddie?” Richie’s voice asks, far quieter than it was just a second ago through the microphone. Eddie snaps his head up, only now realizing he was glaring at the empty chair at his table and that he finished his drink and that, apparently, Richie’s set is over already. 

“Richie?” he asks, standing up when Richie doesn’t move to sit down, “Did you cut your set early?”

“No,” Richie says slowly, shaking his head in a silent no although his eyes never leave Eddie’s face, “I did the whole thing.” 

“Oh.” 

“Are you okay?” Richie asks, hands flitting out to touch Eddie’s shoulders, his arms. Eddie shakes him off and nods his head trying to sound haughty, to sound normal. 

“I’m fine, why wouldn’t I be?” 

“You didn’t laugh,” Richie replies in casual tone but Eddie can see the faint hurt that lingers in his eyes, in the way he holds his posture, “You didn’t laugh the whole time.” 

“I think you should break up with Stan,” Eddie blurts before he can stop himself, one hand coming up to slap over his own mouth. 

_ “What?” _Richie very nearly shouts, eyes wide and flitting anxiously around Eddie’s face. 

“I...” Eddie starts, mostly at a loss for words but he places his hands on his hips like he knows what he’s about to say, “I’m just saying, _ I _wouldn’t put up with my boyfriend not coming to my show, but hey, it’s your love life Trashmouth.” 

“So, you want me to break up with Stan,” Richie says in a too slow voice, eyes never leaving Eddie’s face. It’s enough to make him start shifting nervously in place, “because he’s not supportive enough?” 

“Well you don’t _ have _ to break-” 

“And that’s it?” Richie cuts him off, “No other reason?”

“What? Of course there’s no other reason,” he snaps, rolling his eyes, “What other reason could there possibly be?”

“Oh, I don’t know,” Richie says with a smirk. That smile, Eddie wants to punch that smile right off his face. He should _ not _ be smiling like that right now, “But I’ll think about it, I promise.” 

“Yeah, yeah, think about it,” Eddie gripes, “I just don’t want to hear you whining about it later.” 

“I’m sure,” Richie says around that grin, slinging one arm around Eddie’s shoulder and dragging him towards the door, “Now the night is still young, Edward, and there’s so much for us to do.”

“Don’t fucking call me that, dickwad.” 

  



	3. Bill

_ You left me, sweet, two legacies, -  _

_ A legacy of love _

_ A Heavenly Father would content,  _

_ Had He the offer of;  _

_ You left me boundaries of pain _

_ Capacious as the sea,  _

_ Between eternity and time,  _

_ Your consciousness and me. _

“Fuck this,” Bill says, slamming his book shut. Fuck this poetry class, fuck his proffessor who refuses to see the value in a story and most of all fuck Emily Dickinson. Bill kicks the book to the floor and refuses to look at it for the rest of the night. He doesn’t care that he’s going to be ill prepared for class tomorrow, he doesn’t care that his professor is probably going to give him shit for it because he  _ hates  _ Bill, he doesn’t care anymore. 

His heart aches and reading that poem isn’t helping. 

The problem is, the problem is Stan is all over his house even when he’s not here. There’s a composition notebook with Stan Uris printed neatly on the cover sitting on his kitchen table, a book he’d lent Bill laid open on his coffee table and a printed out copy of the last short story Bill had written that Stan had read and then given back  _ annotated  _ sitting on his bookshelf. Bill had spent so long surrounding himself in Stan he never once stopped to think what he would do if he needed to  _ escape.  _

“I can’t stay here,” Bill mutters, throwing himself off the couch and in search of shoes. His apartment is suffocating in a way it wasn’t just two weeks ago and he shouldn’t feel like this because Stan was never  _ his  _ but he also can’t let go. He lugs his bike down to the street and rides and rides and isn’t all that surprised when he ends up at the quarry. 

This is  _ their _ spot. 

But it’s  _ not _ their spot because Bill is here alone. Stan isn’t here to grumpily read his textbook or pretend he isn’t watching Bill. He isn’t here to force Bill down and tenderly apply sunscreen to his shoulders, his neck, his cheeks, down the line of his back. 

“You’re gonna burn,” Stan would say, nose scrunched as he massaged the greasy lotion into Bill’s skin with too soft touches and Bill didn’t know how to tell him he was already burning. 

He’d been so sure. 

The last time they’d been here he’d been so  _ sure _ that Stan had wanted this too. He glowed in the sunlight, hair curling crazily as it dried and all Bill wanted was to touch, to run his fingers through it and tug at any knots. If he noticed Bill slowly inching closer until they’re shoulders met, hot in the afternoon sun, he didn’t say anything. 

He hadn’t intended on listening to  _ Donovan’s Brain _ with Stan that day; it’s not exactly a fun story and for anyone who knew him as a kid, it's just a reminder of when he wasn’t good enough. But he doesn’t think Stan sees it like that, that Stan sees  _ him  _ like that. 

It’s all too easy for him to bare his soul to Stan. 

“Amidst the mists,” he starts, climbing his way up to the side of the cliff, “and coldest frosts.” 

He strips down to his boxers, kicking off his jeans and shoes in a messy pile, “He thrusts his fists against the post.” 

He walks to the edge, let’s his toes hang over the rocky cliff and imagines Stan here with him. He wouldn’t want to jump, he never does, but he’d do it all the same. Bill would let his fingers trail down Stan’s arm, would let their hands fold together and he’d drag them both over. He’d been  _ so _ close. He can picture it in his mind, what it would be like to reach over and lean into Stanley, to have Stanley press that tiny, secret, smile against his lips. Today, he completes the rhyme in his head as he jumps alone.  _ And still insists he sees the ghost.  _

~*-*~

Not looking at them proves harder than it should, not when everything about this night is  _ wrong.  _ Stan is supposed to be here, next to Bill, on this too small couch pressed solidly against his side. Bill shouldn’t be sat awkwardly next to an angrily twitching Eddie. Stan shouldn’t be on the big couch, sandwiched between Richie and a very uncomfortable looking Ben. They’re pressed against each other, Richie and Stan, but other than that they don’t seem to be making any moves at closeness. 

“Move over, fucker,” Richie hisses, jostling Stan enough that he slumps to the side, away from Richie. 

_ “You’re  _ the one who wanted to sit next to me, dipshit,” Stan grumbles back, one elbow shooting out to jab Richie in the ribs. 

Bill wants to grab Richie by the shoulders and scream that he’s doing it  _ wrong.  _

“I didn’t realize that meant you’d be sitting on  _ top  _ of me,” Richie snaps back, shifting his legs around to create more room. 

“You’d be  _ lucky  _ to have me on top of you,” Stan says with a heavy sigh, rolling his eyes hard enough to hurt. He shifts though too, crossing one leg neatly over the other, hands coming up to fold lightly on his knee. Slowly, discreetly, his eyes come up to look at Bill, snapping away when he realizes Bill’s eyes are already on him.  _ Maybe he misses his old spot,  _ Bill thinks to himself and then shakes his head. Richie is his friend too and he  _ can’t  _ let himself continue that train of thought it’s just. 

Stan is soft, he’s so  _ soft,  _ and he deserves softness in return. Bill wants to run his fingers along Stan’s collarbone, to make a trail along Stan’s jaw with his nose, to trace soft lips with his tongue. He wants to press his hand into the small of Stan’s back, to throw an arm around his shoulder just to hold him that much closer, he wants, he wants, he  _ wants.  _

And Richie isn’t doing  _ any _ of it right. 

~*-*~

They started going to the Quarry by themselves two months ago. Bill had just gotten out of his poetry class and he felt like if he didn’t find a way to let off steam he’d actually explode. He wanted to complain and he wanted to be comforted and he really shouldn’t have been surprised when he found himself at Stan’s door. 

He lets himself in, made possible by Richie who’d made everyone a copy of the apartment key and then promptly demanded that they, under no circumstance, were allowed to tell Stan he’d given them one. It’s convenient and for a second Bill really thought about doing the same but the idea of Richie having free reign over all of his things makes him shutter. 

“Stan?” he calls out, locking the door behind him. He’d left the door unlocked one single time and faced the wrath of a furious Stan; he’s learned his lesson since then. 

“Bill?” Stan asks, poking his head around the corner with one eyebrow raised, “I’m begging you to tell me how you just let yourself in.” 

“It’s a mystery,” Bill shrugs, smile breaking out when Stan’s face drops into an annoyed line. 

“I know it was Richie, Bill, just tell me what he did,” Stan pleads, walking around the corner to stand in the hallway, hands on his hips as he watches Bill kick off his shoes neatly by the door. 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Bill says, lips twitching with the effort to contain his smile. 

“Fine,” Stan snaps, throwing his arms in the air and turning around to walk back to the kitchen, “Keep your secrets.” 

“Hey,” Bill says, catching one of Stan’s arms and holding on for just a second or two longer than necessary, “You wanna go to the Quarry?” 

“Bill,” Stan frowns at him, speaking slowly like he’s trying to gauge whether Bill has snapped or not, “It’s like fifty degrees outside.” 

“So?” Bill asks, “Don’t you miss the outdoors?” 

“I mean, yeah, when it’s warm,” Stan says, eyebrows furrowed as he looks Bill up and down. He’s so beautiful, Bill thinks, with the little wrinkles he has next to his eyes from all the glaring he does at people and his winter-dark hair. 

“You can bring your school stuff,” he says, hands reaching up to grab at the backpack straps still on his own shoulders. 

“So we can study,” Stan begins, pronouncing each word like they’re brand new to him, “outside. In the cold.” 

“It’s not  _ that _ cold,” Bill whines, reaching forward to grab Stan’s shoulders, “Please.” 

Stan just stares at him, long enough that Bill begins to doubt he’ll ever agree. Just when Bill is about to apologize and agree that it was a dumb plan Stan speaks in a low voice, face void of all emotion, “Fine. But if you say one word while I’m reading my textbook I’ll throw you into the water.”

“I’d like to see you try,” Bill laughs, heart fluttering when Stan frowns deep and leans in close to Bill’s face. 

“Watch yourself, Denbrough.” 

_ I’d rather watch you,  _ Bill thinks to himself and then immediately shakes his head. When did he start turning in Richie?

~*-*~

There is a tiny, miniscule, shameful part of Bill that wishes he’d leaned into that thought. 

~*-*~

Bill had kept from complaining for all of twenty minutes that day, but even in his silence he squirmed so badly he knew Stan couldn’t really focus on his own reading. He could see Stan looking over at him from the corner of his eye, could hear him sighing loudly every time Bill repositioned himself. He closes his book only to open it again and loudly flip through the pages and that seems to be the snapping point for Stan. 

“Bill,” Stan glares at him, putting his own textbook down on the grass, pulling his jacket more firmly around himself, “What is your problem?”

“Nothing,” Bill says automatically, looking up at Stan with wide doe eyes but Stan doesn’t crack. His glare stays firmly in place, only changing so he can lift one eyebrow, “Fine. I just, I hate this class.” 

“It’s college,” Stan says in a flat voice that has Bill’s lips curling up into a grin, “And you’ve hated every class.” 

“That’s not true!”

“Bill.”

“Okay, it’s a  _ little,  _ tiny bit true,” Bill gives, rolling his shoulders back and waving his book of collected poems at Stan, “But  _ this _ one is particularly bad.” 

“Isn’t it just a writing class? Don’t you  _ want _ to be a writer?” 

“I want to write  _ novels _ , Stanley,” Bill says, dave twisting up as he spits out the words, “Not  _ poetry. _ ”

“You know,” Stan says, snatching the book out of Bill’s hands and flipping through the table of contents, “I wouldn’t consider myself an expert, but I do know  _ some  _ things about poetry.” 

“Yeah?” 

“So I can help you. What poem are you supposed to be reading?,” he says without looking up from the book, stretching his legs out in front of him and leaning back to make himself comfortable on the grassy embankment, soft blanket wrapped around his shoulders. He looks up before Bill can answer, narrowing his eyes just a little, “No offense, but are you even reading them right?”

“I  _ know _ how to  _ read,  _ Stanley,” Bill says but finds himself unable to add any bite, “And I’m supposed to be analyzing Thanatopsis.” 

“Yeah, but do you know how to read  _ poetry?”  _ Stan asks, flipping through the pages until he finds the poem, “You should really read it out loud.” 

Bill thinks about the lingering stutter that hides in his throat, coming out every once in awhile in the least attractive moment. And poetry is so  _ frustrating,  _ he’s sure he’d be tripping over every other word. Stan seems to realize this too right after he suggests it, but he must know the last thing Bill wants is sympathy so instead he sighs and says, “Get over here.” 

Bill slides over, eyebrows furrowed just a little. He’s about to ask how exactly Stan plans to help when Stan presses their shoulders together, letting some of his blanket wrap around Bill and then all he can think about it how warm Stan is. Stan doesn’t seem distracted though, instead he fixes Bill with a firm look and says, “Pay attention.” 

And then Stan starts reading aloud, rhythmic tempo catching Bill’s attention, actually stopping to think about what Stan is saying, what it  _ means.  _ It’s still garbage and flowery and unnecessarily long but maybe...maybe like this it’s a  _ little _ more tolerable. Maybe because Stan is reading it to him, voice soft but firm. He never stumbles over the words or sounds even a little unsure of himself and Bill thinks he might have fallen deeper in love right then and there. 

“All that breathe will share thy destiny,” Stan reads and Bill finds himself following along, leaning further into Stan’s space, “The gay will laugh when thou art gone, the solemn brood of care plod on, and each one as before will chase his favorite phantom.”

“Bill,” Stan says suddenly, face turning to look at him and it’s only then that Bill notices how close their faces are, how easy it would be to lean forward an inch, a breath, “Are you listening?” 

“Yes,” Bill says indignantly, lips twitching when Stan’s own curl into a smile, “I like the part about the ghost.” 

“The  _ phantom,  _ Bill, not ghost,” Stan rolls his eyes, bumping his shoulder playfully into Bill’s, “And you would, honestly.” 

“Shut up,” Bill whines, testing how far he can lean into Stanley before he’ll say something. He pushes in closer and wraps the blanket around them tighter. Stan doesn’t say a word, “It’s better like this.” 

“Yeah?”

“Hearing it, I mean,” Bill says, gaze lingering on Stan’s face, “Hearing it from  _ you _ makes it better.” 

“Well,” Stan says and Bill can’t help but smile wide at the cherry blush that starts to warm Stan’s cheeks, “Anytime, Denbrough.” 

“I’ll hold you to that,” Bill says. Stan doesn’t look at him, has his eyes placed resolutely forward to watch the water, but his lips are curled up in a small, private, smile. It’s genuine and Bill so rarely gets to see it; he wants to grab it and put it in his pocket so that he can look at it whenever he’s feeling down. 

“Do it.” 

~*-*~

“If I’ve told you once, I’ve told you a thousand times,” Eddie snaps, little eyes turning to glare sharply at Bill, “If you’re going to have a bike from the dawn of time you need to actually  _ take care  _ of it.” 

“Why do  _ I _ need to?” Bill asks, lopsided grin in full effect, “When I have you?”

“Excuse me, am I your mother?” Eddie asks, angry little fingers gripping Silver tightly, “Did I turn into your whole mother?” 

“My mother knows nothing about bikes,” Bill laughs, handing over the little wrench next to him when Eddie points to it. He sends a little pout Eddie’s way as he does, eyes going big and shiny, “Or my father, really. And even if they  _ did _ you know they’d never show me. It’s almost like they don’t even  _ like _ me, maybe that’s why I need someone like  _ you-”  _

“Alright, alright,  _ Jesus,”  _ Eddie growls, tightening some bolt or whatever the fuck. Bill knows he  _ should _ but he never actually pays attention when Eddie fixes his bike, “And you can’t play the parent card on me.”

“Who  _ else _ am I going to use it on?” Bill demands from his spot on the ground, lounging back with his hands pressed flat to the concrete, “Even Richie gives me pity eyes sometimes,  _ Richie-”  _

“Do  _ not _ talk about that asshole right now, okay?” Eddie says, dropping the wrench with a little too much force, “Just don’t.”

“Okay,” Bill nods, letting the silence lull over them for a moment or two, “So, I was in class today and-”

“I mean, can you  _ believe  _ them?” Eddie asks, raising his voice to talk right over Bill, “Just deciding to  _ date _ as if that’s just okay.”

“Why wouldn’t it be okay?” 

“They’re terrible together, Bill!” Eddie yells, bringing his hand up like he’s about to start listing things off, “And no offense, but Stan is a terrible boyfriend, I mean he didn’t even go to Richie’s show last night, who the fuck does that?” 

“I wouldn’t go to Richie’s show either,” Bill says, suddenly feeling a strange mix of angst and defensiveness. It’s not Stan’s fault Richie’s shows are boring. (Except they’re really not boring because Richie is actually really funny and Bill doesn’t know _why _Stan wouldn’t go especially if they’re in like _love_ with each other and it’s disgusting but it feels good knowing Stan didn’t go). 

“Hey, they’re great, okay, and Richie is actually hilarious when he tries and he’s not being all,” Eddie pauses, waving his hands in a circle as if Bill has any idea what that means,  _ “Richie.  _ And if  _ I  _ were dating Richie, I’d go to his goddamn show, that’s all I’m saying.” 

“Oh?” Bill asks, raising one eyebrow to stare Eddie down, not missing the blush that colors his cheeks as he continues to work on Silver. 

“That’s, I don’t mean,” Eddie stumbles, dropping his hands and glaring at Bill, “Shut up, Denbrough.” 

_ Yeah,  _ Bill thinks, because he gets it, whatever it is Eddie is feeling right then. He gets it. 

~*-*~

This is stupid. He should  _ not _ be here. Stan is his friend and God,  _ Richie _ is his friend. He’d die for either of them a dozen times over, this is  _ wrong.  _ But he can’t stop himself from lifting his hand up to knock just a little too loudly on Stan’s door, can’t ignore the way his heart pounds painfully in his chest like it knows Stan is close by and it wants to jump out, to meet him, to-

“Bill?” Stan asks as he opens the door, frowning. He looks soft in a warm sweater, sleeves pulled up over his hands just the tiniest bit. His hair looks a bit messy, like someone had run their fingers through it over and over again. For the briefest of moments, Bill prays it was Stan’s own hands that made that mess. 

“Shouldn’t you be at Richie’s show?” Bill blurts out as soon as he sees Stan because it’s Saturday and Richie is probably already at the bar and he  _ has _ to know, he has to know how real this all is. 

“What? What are you-” Stan asks and then looks down at his watch; it’s one of those fancy ones with all the gears that show the date as well, “Oh. It’s Saturday. I don’t, I don’t really go to those unless he has something new he wants us to hear.” 

“Why not?” Bill asks and pretends he’s not begging for something he knows he shouldn’t hope for. 

“Why not, I don’t know Bill, because I have better things to do with my nights,” Stan says and rolls his eyes like this should be so obvious.

“But you’re dating.” 

“So? What does-” But he seems to catch something on Bill’s face, something that makes him pause, makes his eyes widen just barely but enough for Bill to see the shift, “I didn’t go to his show, Bill.” 

“Stan,” he starts and he can already feel his eyes beginning to water. This thing with Stan, it’s too big, too heavy, he can’t hold it by himself. He knows it’s not fair but he  _ can’t,  _ “I’m sorry.” 

“For what? Bill?” Stan asks, stepping forward and looking more worried that before. His hands reach out to grab Bill’s shoulders and Bill lets him. Because he’s scared and hurt and he’s so, so in love with this boy, “Bill? What’s wrong?”

“It’s, I shouldn’t do this to you,” Bill says and begins trying to pull away so he can turn around and head home and keep all of his inconvenient feelings to himself. He remembers telling Eddie  _ you have to learn how to let go _ and that’s exactly what he’ll do. But Stan doesn’t let go, no, his fingers tighten on Bill’s shoulders, digging into his shirt, his skin, and drag him inside the apartment, “Stan, let me go.” 

“No, Bill, I’m not just going to let you go, not when you’re like this,” Stan shakes his head but never, never, loosens his grip on Bill, “Just tell me what happened. Let me help you.” 

“You can’t help, Stan, and I’m sorry,  _ I’m sorry,  _ I shouldn’t have come here,” Bill says, looking down at his feet and shaking his shoulders to loosen Stan’s grip. It works, but only because Stan’s hands fall along Bill’s arms, coming to circle around Bill’s wrist. 

“Bill,” he says again, voice quiet and concerned as he steps forward into Bill’s space, trying desperately to get Bill’s eyes to meet his own, “Whatever it is, you can tell me. Just tell me what’s wrong.” 

“I’m in love with you,” Bill says, finally bringing red eyes up to meet Stan’s. The quiet lasts for too long; Stan just stares at him and it’s enough to make Bill want to scream. 

“Bill-”

“I know,  _ I know,  _ I messed up, okay? I know I waited too long, and it’s not fair to you, but Stan,” Bill sighs out his name like a last ditch prayer, “I think about you when I wake up in the morning and it’s so  _ easy _ to picture you there, in my life. I can, I can see your books mixed into my bookshelf and your clothes in my closet. I can  _ see _ you on my couch when I get home and I don’t  _ want _ anyone else there, I never have. 

“I love you,” he says more firmly this time, taking in Stan’s face; his eyes are wide and his lips are parted in shock but it’s his hands that make Bill’s heart pound. Those hands that still encircle his wrists but now, now his thumbs press hard into the palms of Bill’s. Half of Bill wants to relish in the touch, to bask in Stanley’s full attention but the other half wants to scream  _ let me go _ because what exactly is he supposed to do when this is over? “And I’m sorry.”

“You’re sorry? What are, what are you talking about, Bill?” Stan asks in a desperate voice, “What do you mean it’s not fair? Bill, I-”

“Because you’re with Richie!” Bill shouts, bringing his hands up to his face and Stan still doesn’t let go, no, he just let’s his hands slide down Bill’s arm so they rest in the crook of his elbows, “And it’s not  _ fair  _ of me to dump that on you just because you’re with someone else, I know that, I’m sorry.

“But Stan, I’ve loved you for  _ so  _ long and I never want to hurt you, I just need you to understand-” 

“Bill.” 

“That I might just need some time, I  _ can’t _ watch you two,  _ I’m sorry _ -” 

“Bill,” Stan whispers and then. Pulls Bill’s hands away from his face and leans in hard. His lips are soft, softer than Bill had expected, but he presses in firm, one hand reaching up to gently cup the side of Bill’s face. Bill finds both of his hands reaching out to Stan’s chest, twisting his shirt in his fingers. It’s so good, this closeness, and it takes Bill more than a few seconds to remember why he hadn’t just gone for it in the beginning. 

“What are you  _ doing _ ?” he demands, pushing Stanley away even though it’s the last thing he wants, “You’re with Richie, you can’t just-”

“We’re not dating,” Stan speaks faster than Bill has ever heard him, eyes desperate he searches Bill’s face. 

_ “What?” _ Bill asks because that doesn’t make sense, he’d  _ seen _ them, they  _ said _ they were together. 

“It’s all pretend, we were faking it,” Stan rushes out again, hands never leaving their grip on Bill’s body like he’s afraid Bill might run, “It was, it was Richie’s idea. We were just trying to make you and Eddie jealous, but I didn’t think it would work because, I didn’t think, that you...”

“I love you,” Bill says, feeling only slightly less scared than he did before and now he notices the way Stan preens at the phrase, smiling wide, “I love you but I can’t believe you did that, that is the  _ dumbest  _ plan I’ve ever heard.”

“That’s exactly what I said!” Stan shouts, using the burst of energy to drag Bill just a little closer, not that Bill minds, “But Richie can be very persuasive. And I mean, it worked.” 

“I was going to tell you that day at the Quarry,” Bill says, fixing Stan with an unimpressed stare, “But I...” 

“I get it,” Stan finishes for him, nodding his head, “There were so many times I was going to say something and then just...didn’t.”

“So you and Richie, you’re not together?” Bill asks, smiling when Stan shakes his head. 

“I would  _ never  _ and I can’t believe you all believed it so easily,” Stan says, smiling himself when Bill laughs. 

“And...” 

“And I love you too,” Stan whispers, leaning in close enough that their noses brush together, “I’ve always loved you, Bill.” 

“Thank God,” Bill says, mostly to himself, and then he’s launching himself fully against Stan, wrapping his arms around Stan’s waist to tug him in tight and pressing his chapped lips to Stan’s soft ones over and over again. 

~*-*~

He doesn’t remember ending up in Stan’s room but he wakes up there, wrapped around Stan under warm covers. Dark curls splay across his pillow, shining with little gold streaks where the sunlight from the window hits it. Bill buries his face in the back of Stan’s neck and tightens his arms around Stan’s middle and thinks  _ maybe I can really have this.  _

“Are you awake?” Stan asks. He has a gruff morning voice that makes Bill’s toes tingle so he presses a kiss to the crook of Stan’s neck, smile pressed into Stan’s skin when he feels one of Stan’s hands reach back to grab at his thigh. 

“I love you,” Bill says in lieu of good morning because he wants to see the way Stan seems to stretch out under those words with a little smile on his face. He doesn’t think he’ll ever get tired of it. Stan turns around quick, rolling on top of Bill with a knee placed firmly on either side of Bill’s waist. 

“I love you too, you emo bastard,” he says and the grin on his face is blinding. He shines so bright all the time, it hurts Bill’s eyes but he won’t look away. He’s never going to look away. 

~*-*~

They sneak around Stan’s apartment and make coffee in between kisses. Stan leans against the counter, smile hidden by the brim of his mug, but his bare toes keep inching closer and closer to Bill’s and Bill smiles when he feels them rub against his calf, his ankle. 

They creep back into Stan’s room and climb into his bed with a sort of giddy excitement because this is their  _ life _ now. Pressing side by side, their feet tangle together under the sheets and Bill finds he can’t stop touching Stan, fingers tracing up and down the length of his arm, head turning to press soft kisses along Stan’s shoulder. 

“I can’t believe you really thought I was dating  _ Richie _ of all people,” Stan laughs into the steam of his coffee. 

“You  _ said _ you were dating,” Bill laments stretching out to whine better, “Besides you already live together, and you get along. What was I supposed to think?” 

“You’re supposed to know that Richie is like my brother,” Stan says, rolling his eyes, “My incredibly annoying brother.” 

“It was the  _ worst  _ two weeks in my life, Stan, have some sympathy,” Bill whines, throwing one arm over Stan’s middle and pressing his face into Stan’s neck, “I couldn’t even do my homework.” 

“Wait, for that poetry class?” Stan asks, sitting up straighter when Bill nods his head, “Bill, are you serious?”

“What?”

“I did  _ not _ work that hard for you to get a B in that class,” Stan asserts, grabbing his phone and all but throwing it all Bill, “Find the poems Bill.” 

“But-” 

“Find. The. Poems. Bill,” Stan says and Bill does because he doesn’t want to die yet. They’re all old anyways, public domain, so they’re easy to find. When he gets each one loaded up, he hands the phone back to Stan who looks at him with a mixture of tenderness and extreme annoyance. 

“Come here,” Stan says just like he did that day at the Quarry except now he opens his arms and smiles when Bill rests his head against his chest, settling in to tangle up together while Stan reads out loud. The more Stan reads the softer he seems to get and if Bill had known he’d get like this he would have asked Stan to read to him years ago. 

“It’s all I have to bring today,” Stan says into the quiet, half dark room, “This, and my heart beside. 

“This, and my heart, and all the fields,” he reads, turning to press a tender kiss the top of Bill’s head. It makes Bill smile, so he turns his face up to watch Stanley instead of reading the words along with him, “And all the meadows wide.

“Be sure you count – should I forget,” now he presses soft kisses down Bill’s face, along the path of his nose, “Some one the sum could tell.

“This, and my heart, and all the Bees,” Stan whispers into Bill’s mouth, lips touching but not quite kissing, not yet. He drops the phone somewhere on the bed and Bill finds himself being slipped off of that warm chest so that Stan can crawl over him, straddling his waist and hovering over him, not once looking away from Bill’s face. His heart pounds in his ears, hands coming up to hold Stan’s hips while Stan’s own cradle his jaw, lips brushing along the skin of his brow, his cheekbone, back to his nose and stopping just short of his lips. Stan’s lips don’t meet his fully until he finishes the poem, brushing against Bill’s with every word that is whispered, “Which in the Clover dwell.” 

And then they’re lips meet and Bill can’t think of anything else, but the slide of Stan’s skin against his own, the warmth of his hands on Bill’s face, his chest, his hips. He tangles his fingers in messy curls and pulls at the ones at the base of Stan’s head and decides then that nothing, no poem or art or song, has ever been more beautiful than the sound Stan makes. 

  
  



	4. Richie

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i was going to post these chapters slowly but i have no control so heres the entire fic u animals

He’s not sure when he fell in love with Eddie, per say, just that it’s always been there. It’s grounding in a way, like the beating of his own heart. It lingers under everything that he does, every movement, every action because Eddie is altogether frustrating and intoxicating. 

He remembers when he  _ realized _ though. To be clear: he always knew he  _ liked _ Eddie. He’s cute and weird and the only one with the right combination of unbridled energy and capacity for nonsense to keep up with Richie blow for blow. But it wasn’t until he was sixteen that he thought  _ shit I think I’m in love.  _

They were in line at the grocery store, having been fully capitalizing on the freedom that was Richie’s brand new fifteen year old car, listening to a thirty something man yell at the cashier over a coupon that was definitely expired. Which is such crap because they were in the  _ express _ lane; it’s a lane for speediness, politeness and definitely no coupon disputes. 

“Jesus,” Eddie had grumbled under his breath, shifting from one foot to the other agitatedly. It made Richie smile, watching Eddie bounce around like a pissed off cat, but then as the seconds ticked on Eddie shook his head with pursed lips like the forty year old dad he’d truly been inside and threw his hands up and very  _ loudly _ exclaimed, “Jesus Christ, dude!” 

“Excuse me?” the man snapped, turning around to look Eddie up and down, probably sizing up his tiny frame and angry attitude, “Do you have a problem?”

“Um,  _ yeah,  _ I have a problem dude,” Eddie had snapped right back, all teeth and determination, “Now why don’t you buy your shit and run along so we can  _ all _ go about our day.” 

“You can’t just talk to me like that,” the man had stared at them with wide eyes, like he really couldn’t fathom two sixteen year olds having an attitude problem, “You’re just a kid.” 

“Hear that, Eds?” Richie had laughed, thinking about fighting monsters and mothers and jerk offs named Henry goddamn Bowers. He threw an arm around Eddie’s shoulders, laughing when Eddie tried (and failed) to brush him off, “You’re just a kid.” 

“Yeah,” Eddie nodded then, hands coming up to his chin like he’d been deep in thought, “Yeah, I’m just a kid and you’re just an asshole.” 

The man stared at them, watching Richie laugh and Eddie vibrate with righteous indignation, saw the way Eddie leaned into Richie’s side, the way Richie’s fingers tightened ever so slightly on his shoulder. And he’d smiled then, smug eyes and mouth turning their attention to Richie, “Get better control of your  _ boyfriend, _ he’s acting like an animal.” 

_ “Control?”  _ Richie had screeched because, fuck, he doesn’t think there’s  _ anyone _ out there who can control Eddie. Not even Eddie himself. 

“Animal? I’ll show you animal,” Eddie snapped, face scrunching up tight and furious and then-

“Eddie,  _ don’t!”  _ Richie shrieked just as a giant loogie went flying past Eddie’s lips and straight into the man’s face, nostrils flaring the whole time. 

There’s a lot of commotion then; distantly Richie heard the man’s disgusted cries, the way he demanded someone call the cops, the cashier telling them to  _ wait just a second _ but all he’s focused on is steering Eddie out of the store as fast as possible, drinks and snacks completely forgotten. He’d run Eddie through the parking lot and mentally thanked every deity he could think of that Eddie was so  _ small _ because even though he fought Richie the whole time, he was still able to get them safely inside his car before they caught even more trouble. 

“I can’t believe you just did that,” Richie had moaned, shaking his head like an etch a sketch with a bad drawing and turned the key in the ignition. 

“What?” Eddie grumbled, crossing his arms over his chest in an overly dramatic pout, “Some old boner gives me attitude I’m gonna spit in his face.” 

It took Richie a second to place the line and then he’s dropping his head with a loud  _ thunk  _ against the steering wheel and moaning again, “I should have  _ never _ let you watch Sunny, I should have  _ known _ better.” 

“Yeah, well, you already did,” Eddie had growled, half smug half pissed off, “No take backs.” 

It had clicked in Richie’s head then, that Eddie is wild and rabid and bound to get Richie in trouble and he wouldn’t ever take any of it back.  _ Ever.  _

He wanted to grab Eddie by the face and say, “I love you, you absolute psychopath, I  _ love _ you,” but Eddie was still mad, mad, mad and pouting in his front seat so he thought better of it. Dealing with a pissed off Eddie is never rational and Richie considered making a deal with himself to tell Eddie later but then Eddie was demanding he be brought to a gas station because  _ “I want my fucking coke, Richie,”  _ and the moment was lost in reversing tires and the squeal of worn out brakes. 

~*-*~

Eddie snags the seat next to him on the picnic bench as soon as he gets there, even though he  _ knows _ Stan will be coming too. He has to know what he’s doing. Richie hopes he knows what he’s doing. He doesn’t complain though because Eddie is warm and vibrant in the sunlight, moving around like a hamster on speed while he recounts his story to Bev and Mike with wild hands. Richie’s fingers itch where they sit, gripping the bottom of his drink, to dance their way across the table so he can throw an arm around Eddie’s shoulders. He wants to feel him under his arm, to be jostled everytime Eddie gets over excited. 

“And then this pyramid right, they have these crazy fucking pyramids and-  _ what the fuck?”  _ Eddie snaps, eyes wide as he catches sight of Stan and Bill walking towards them. Bev and Mike both whip around, making little noises of shock at what they see. 

Because Stan is being lead by the hand down the hill towards their picnic table by a happy Bill. 

And he’s  _ laughing.  _ Wide and open and Bill is smiling so big his cheeks dimple in deep crevices and-

“Is that a hickey?” Richie shouts when he catches sight of the purple bruise at the base of Stan’s neck. 

“I, what,  _ no,”  _ Stan immediately snaps, free hand coming up to slap over the spot that is  _ definitely  _ a hickey. 

_ “Hickey?”  _ Eddie shouts next to him but Richie is too focused on the blush Stan is sporting and the way his fingers are threaded together with Bill’s. His own lips stretch out into a smile as Stan glares hard at him. 

“Did you-”

“Shut up.” 

“And Bill-”

_ “Shut up.”  _

“You did, didn’t you?” Richie demands, laughter underlying his voice. He’s too caught up in being happy for Stan, already mentally preparing a list of all the things he’s going to make Stan do for him because he officially  _ owes  _ Richie. So maybe it’s his fault, really, that he doesn’t notice the way Eddie has started to vibrate next to him, “Was Denbrough in your room this morning? Is that why you were being so weird?”

“You  _ what?”  _ Eddie shouts, slamming his hands flat against the wood of the table and standing up to lean towards the pair, “How could you, how could you  _ do  _ this to Richie?” 

“Eddie-” Richie starts, trying to explain before things get too heated but Eddie is already  _ mad _ and he knows well enough how hard it is to snap him out of that. 

“No, do  _ not _ make excuses for him,” Eddie snaps, turning back to Stan just in time to see Stan roll his eyes, “You just, you’re just going to  _ cheat _ on Richie and then come here and  _ flaunt  _ it around like it’s, like that’s  _ okay?  _ And in your own home, the one you  _ share _ with Richie, I might add. You, you  _ harlot.”  _

“Eddie, it’s not like that,” Bill starts, face scrunched up as his eyebrows tighten together, trying to explain himself, taking a half step to the side so he stands just the tiniest bit in front of Stan. It doesn’t do anything to calm Eddie; the only thing it  _ does  _ do is release Eddie’s fury onto himself. 

“And  _ you!”  _ Eddie yells, one hand coming up to point aggressively at Bill, “I, I expected  _ better _ from you. Richie is your friend and you’re just, you’re just a  _ homewrecker!”  _

“Eddie,” Stan says, rolling his eyes again at the indignant screech Eddie releases. 

“No, do  _ not _ start with me Stanley,  _ nothing  _ about this is okay, you, you  _ bimbo.  _ You don’t get to waltz in and out of relationships with people without even, without  _ even  _ telling them. And what’s next, huh? You gonna go through our whole group? You gonna steal Mike from Bev? Let me tell you, there’s  _ nothing _ you can do to seduce  _ me _ , no ho ho, I will  _ not-”  _

Eddie is silenced by the burst of loud laughter that seems to come from somewhere deep in Richie’s gut. The entire group, including Bev and Mike who’ve been watching this whole thing play out with a mixture of confusion and horror, turns to look at Richie as he clutches his at his stomach. All except Stan, who brings his free hand up to pinch at the bridge of his nose and look towards the sky. 

“What the  _ fuck,  _ Richie?” Eddie turns his rage onto Richie, hands shaking where they’re still pressed against the table, “None of this is funny!” 

“It  _ is,”  _ Richie says through a laugh, wiping at the tears that bunch at the corners of his eyes, “Which you would  _ know  _ if you’d just  _ listen _ for a second.”

“It’s not!” Eddie yells, picking his hand up to point a finger at Stan, “All I know is that what he’s doing is  _ wrong,  _ he hurt you and I love you and I would  _ never-” _

“What?” Richie asks, suddenly feeling like all of the air has been sucked out of the room. Which makes no  _ sense _ because they’re outside and Eddie is still shaking but now instead of furious his eyes look scared and small and confused. 

“What?” Eddie asks, “I didn’t say anything. What?”

But those are the words Richie has been waiting to hear since he was  _ sixteen _ and he’s not about to let them go that easy, “You just said you love me.” 

“No I didn’t,” Eddie lies through gritted teeth, stepping out of the confinement of the picnic table. Richie hurries to climb out too because he’s  _ not _ about to let Eddie get away. 

“Yes you did,” Richie argues, holding his hands out to Eddie like a wild animal. 

“No I fucking didn’t.”

“You clearly just said  _ I love you,  _ Eddie, we all heard,” Richie says and takes one fateful step forward. Which proves to be too much because Eddie’s wild eyes track that step and then he turns and just.  _ Runs.  _

“Oh, goddammit,” Richie mutters and then he’s chasing after this absolutely feral boy in a dead sprint, “Eddie, are you fucking serious?” 

“I’m so not dealing with this right now!” Eddie shouts back, taking a sharp turn around a tree that has Richie sliding a little too hard and stumbling to stay upright. 

“Yes you are!” Richie shouts back and not for the first time, Richie is thankful for their dramatic height difference because his strides are so much longer than Eddie’s and it doesn’t take long for him to catch up and grab both of his shoulders,  _ “Eddie.”  _

“What!” Eddie shouts, wiggling around in Richie’s hands, hissing like a cat, “I don’t understand what’s happening and I  _ don’t  _ need you letting me down easy right now so why don’t you get your hands  _ off  _ me-”

“That’s not what’s happening at all, Eddie, Jesus,” Richie says and takes one small breath in while he decides to be brave and - “I’ve been in love with you my entire life and you think I’m about to  _ let you down easy,  _ I mean my God, are you high?”

_ “What?” _ Eddie shouts through a flurry of movement, spinning rapidly in Richie’s arms to get a better look at Richie’s face. 

“I’m literally all over you  _ all _ the time,  _ where _ have you been?” Richie asks. He wants to throw his hands up in the air but he’s afraid if he lets go of Eddie shoulders now he might run away again. 

“You’re,  _ what?  _ You’re dating Stan, or you were until-”

“Oh my god, that was obviously fake, how did you all believe that, he wouldn’t even let me touch his butt, I mean  _ come on,”  _ Richie sighs loud, blowing air out of his nose hard while he rolls his eyes, fingertips digging into Eddie’s shoulders when he feels him start to shake. 

_ “Fake?”  _

“I mean yeah, we wanted-”

“We?” Eddie growls, one eyebrow raised. 

_ “I  _ wanted to see if I could get a reaction out of you,” Richie corrects, fingers inching away from Eddie’s shoulders and closer to his neck. 

“You stupid, idiot, asshole,  _ motherfucker,”  _ Eddie is suddenly shouting, beating his fists against Richie’s chest, not hard enough to hurt but enough to send him back a step or two. 

“Well I did fuck your mom,” Richie quips with a lopsided grin, only getting bigger when Eddie shrieks, “We had one beautiful night together.”

“Now is  _ so _ not the time, Richie,  _ not  _ the time,” he asserts, fist still pressing against Richie’s chest. 

“Is it ever the time?”

“Richie!” 

“Fine, fine!” Richie laughs, hand coming up to circle gently around the fist still leaned against him, “Listen, I know it’s dumb but I...I was scared okay? Because this, this running away thing, if I had told you I love you and you  _ ran away _ I’d have been, I’d have been crushed, Eddie.”

“I wouldn’t have run away, if you would have just  _ told  _ me-”

“Did you even know?” he asks, suddenly more serious than even he can ever remember being. 

“What?” Eddie asks, eyebrows raised in confusion. 

“You never gave me any serious indication...” Richie mumbles, thumb rubbing gently against Eddie’s skin, looking down as he speaks, “Did you even realize you love me? Before you blurted it out in a rage?”

“I...”

“See!”

“Well, it’s!” Eddie shouts, quick to defend himself, “I  _ always _ knew you were something special, Richie, I always knew I wanted you more than I’ve ever wanted anyone I just...My feelings for you have never changed okay? It’s hard to know you’re in love when you’ve literally always been this way.”

“I get it,” Richie nods then, feeling something warm and light flutter around in his chest because he understands that  _ exact  _ feeling, “Because I’ve always loved you too.” And then he’s leaning forward and down to brush against chapped lips, moving slow, slow, slow. When one of Eddie’s hands slide against his check, cupping his jaw gently, he smiles wide against those lips and moves seamlessly with Eddie. 

“Why do you always have to do things in the most difficult way possible?” Eddie asks in a breathy voice when he finally pulls back, leaning his forehead against Richie’s, “I mean  _ fake dating  _ our  _ friend _ ? Do you understand how much I’ve hated Stan these past two weeks?”

“Well-”

“Oh  _ fuck _ , Stan!” Eddie shouts, jerking his head back hard with wide eyes to crane his head to the side, trying to catch a glimpse at their table that now seats two couples who don’t even  _ pretend  _ they’re not staring, “I called him a harlot.”

“You did,” Richie agrees easily, smiling wide enough to show teeth. 

“And a bimbo,” Eddie groans, letting his head drop against Richie’s chest heavily, smiling giddily when Richie’s arms come up to wrap around him. 

“That too,” Richie nods, “Don’t forget about calling Bill a homewrecker.” 

“God dammit, Richie, this is all your fault,” he spits into the fabric of Richie’s shirt, grumbling when he feels the tell tale shake of Richie’s chest underneath him, “It’s not funny!” 

“I have a feeling he won’t be too mad,” Richie says, eyes catching Stan’s from across the park. He nods his head and grins at the thumbs up Stan shoots back, “He’ll probably only make you apologize five, maybe six times. No biggie.” 

~*-*~

“Listen, I’m sorry.” 

“For?”

“You  _ know.” _

“Oh?” Stan asks, one eyebrow raising as he looks back and forth between Eddie and Bill, “Bill, do you know what he’s sorry for?”

“I’m really not sure,” Bill says, laughing a little, unable to keep up the straight faced game that Stan has perfected. Stan’s expression is calm, emotionless, but his eyes are mischievous. Richie  _ knows  _ that look, knows Stan isn’t going to stop until he pulls every possible word from Eddie. 

“Oh fuck you,” Eddie snaps from his spot next to Richie, leaning heavily into Richie’s side. 

“Wow, some apology,” Stan deadpans, resting his head daintily on his hand. He looks like a statue; all perfect posture and angled jaw mixed nicely with the way Bill slouches next to him and runs a soft hand up and down his spine, “I’m truly blown away.” 

“Babe,” Richie says, trying to hold back his own laughter when Eddie twitches angrily under his arm. 

“I’m sorry,” Eddie says through his teeth, “For possibly calling you a harlot.” 

“And a bimbo,” Bill provides helpfully. 

_ “And _ a bimbo,” Eddie glares. 

“Okay,” Stan says after staring Eddie down for a few seconds, nodding to himself. He can feel Eddie relax next to him and he wants shout  _ too soon _ at him because he  _ knows  _ Stan when, “Now apologize to Bill.” 

“To Bill?” Eddie splutters, eyes widening with outrage. 

“You called him a homewrecker,” Stan says, leaning back to pat sympathetically at Bill’s shoulder who, to his credit, sports an impressively well acted pout, “It really hurt his feelings.” 

“No it didn’t!”

“I just can’t believe you think so little of me,” Bill mumbles, shaking his head and wiping at a fake tear, “I thought we were  _ friends.”  _

“Oh my  _ god!” _ Eddie screeches, throwing his hands in the air and Richie can’t stop himself really; he leans forward to shove his face into Eddie’s hair, laughing the whole time, “I’m  _ sorry _ I called you a homewrecker,  _ William.” _

“Apology accepted,” Bill says easy enough, letting himself fall into Stan’s space enough to rest his head on his shoulder, “Was that so hard?” 

“I would rather die than do that again.” 

“But then it would just be me and your mother,” Richie says, laughing at Eddie’s angry guffaw. 

Eddie stands from the bench, glaring at each face around him and starts yelling, “Alright, you know  _ what—” _

~*-*~

“So that’s it?” Mike asks, looking between the four of them with wide eyes, “We’re not going to talk about this?” 

“What’s there to talk about?” Richie asks, shrugging his shoulders and laughing internally at the baffled look on Mike’s face, “Just a normal day in the life of Richie Tozier.” 

“Um, how about the fact that you and Stan apparently  _ pretended  _ to date for the last two weeks?” Mike asks, eyebrows raised high as he brings his arm to wrap around Bev’s waist. 

“Eh, what’s in the past is in the past,” Richie waves him off. 

“Worst two weeks of my life,” Stan shutters and deftly dodges an acorn being thrown his way. 

“You’ll cherish our time together, I know you will,” Richie says, pointing a finger in Stan’s face, “One day you’ll wake up and think, wow I wish I hadn’t fallen victim to the emo pull of Bill Denbrough, I should have treasured my time with Richie when I had the chance. Now I have to watch-”

“You guys are crazy,” Bev cuts off, shaking her head and turning to look at Mike, “Baby, I’m really glad you asked me out in a normal way.”

“More like  _ boring _ way.”

“Wait until Ben hears about this, he’s not going to  _ believe _ how stupid you guys are.”

~*-*~

Being with Eddie is largely the same as  _ not _ being with Eddie but that might be because the two of them have been unnaturally close since they met in the first grade. Eddie still tells Richie to shut up and has no problems listing all the reasons Richie is  _ being a fucking idiot like oh my god Richie are you being serious right now are you being serious.  _

The only difference is that everything is a little softer. Now, when Eddie yells that he’s being an idiot he also runs a hand gently through his hair. He tells Richie to shut up and then leans his face into Richie’s neck just to get closer. He bites Richie’s shoulder and then smoothes the spot over with his tongue. 

And Richie can’t get enough. 

He baits Eddie into conversations just to get close. Says things like  _ all toothpaste does is make your breath smell good, water works just as well  _ because Eddie loses his mind; he wiggles into Riche’s space and bites his collarbone and Richie gets to throw his arms around his shoulders and hold him there until he inevtiably relaxes and says  _ you’re so dumb, Richie, I love you so much.  _

~*-*~

Movie nights are much better like this. Richie doesn’t arrive with Stan anymore, usually because Stan is already at Bill’s house, lounging around on his couches, probably reading Bill’s short stories and watching emo movies together. ( _ “we don’t watch emo movies together” “what was the last movie the two of you watched alone together?” “disobedience” “the sad lesbian movie?” “...yes” _ ) 

Now he sits with Eddie curled into his chest, whispering angrily to him about how stupid the movie is,  _ even _ when he’s the one who chose it, and he gets to rub Eddie’s back after he inevitably falls asleep. He lets out little snores and nuzzles his nose against Richie’s jaw and whispers, “Wake me up when it’s time to go home.” 

“How do you know I’m going home with you?” Richie will ask, even as he tightens his grip around Eddie’s shoulders, “What kind of girl do you think I am?” 

“The kind who wants to sleep in my bed tonight but won’t get to if you don’t shut up,” Eddie mumbles and kisses softly at the skin right below Richie’s earlobe. 

On the other side of the room, Stan has reclaimed his spot next to Bill on the too small loveseat. They hold hands and whisper to each other just loud enough for the other to hear but it must be good because Bill keeps smiling wide enough to crinkle his eyes and Stan lets himself fall further and further into Bill’s lap. Out of the corner of his eye, Richie can see Stan lift their joined hands every so often to place soft kisses to each of Bill’s knuckles. It’s disgusting and Richie has never been happier for them. 

He looks down at Eddie’s sleeping face rested against his shoulder, his lips parted ungracefully and a tiny bit of drool pooling on Richie’s shirt. And he likes it. He likes the way this all ended. It’s probably his favorite ending. Or beginning, whichever really, he’s not picky. 

~*-*~

“Hey fuckface,” Eddie whispers into the skin of Richie’s sternum later that night, lips dragging softly against him. They’re tangled up in Eddie’s too soft bed, pressed tight against each other because Eddie is a cuddler and Richie will never willingly deny him anything. The TV hums quietly in the background, a comedy special that Richie had started because he knew it’d make Eddie roll his eyes hard. But Richie likes this; likes the noise and the way Eddie is lit up by the soft illumination of the TV. 

_ “I don’t put a napkin in my lap when I eat. You know why? Because I believe in myself.”  _

“Yeah?” Richie asks into his hair, petting down the line of Eddie’s back with gentle hands. Eddie shoves in closer, tucks his chin up so he can mouth at Richie’s neck, partly because he wants to and partly because it always, without fail, makes Richie’s toes curl. 

_ “And you know what, we’re back here happy with our apple juice.”  _

“I love you,” Eddie whispers into his throat, fingernails digging sharply into Richie’s shoulder blades. It’s been a month since everything happened but hearing Eddie say it still makes Richie’s breath catch in his throat, still makes something heavy settle in his throat because he’d wanted this for  _ so  _ long and still can’t believe he gets to have it. To have Eddie. 

“I love you too,” he whispers back, leaning forward to brush his lips against the shell of Eddie’s ear just to feel him shiver. 

“Good, dickhead,” Eddie mumbles back, eyes fully closed and about three seconds away from falling asleep, “Now please turn that shit off I want to sleep.” 

“That’s not what your mom said last night,” Richie says but he’s already feeling around for the remote so he can shut the TV off. Since Eddie asked so  _ nicely.  _

“Shut the fuck up, Trashmouth,” Eddie says into the now dark room but Richie can hear the smile in his voice and thinks  _ yeah. this is what i’ve always wanted.  _

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> hi or hey  
[talk to me on tumblr!](https://stanleyyelnatsthethird.tumblr.com)


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